Chapter 39 – Lousy Fletchers

Archery, that much was clear, was not one of Benderast’s strengths.

Shaelith sat on a barrel at the edge of the makeshift archery range Thaelon had set up and watched the pitiful spectacle that had been unfolding for the past three days.

At the other end of the clearing stood three straw targets that Grimbart had crafted under Thaelon’s guidance. The targets themselves were largely intact. The ground in front of them, beside them, and a good distance behind them, however, was heavily littered with arrows.

“You have to keep your shoulders relaxed,” Thaelon said, quite calmly considering that he was telling Benderast this for what must have been the hundredth time. “It’s enough just to hold the bow. You don’t have to strangle it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m holding it quite loosely, I think,” Benderast forced out as he took aim, while his muscles bulged on his forearm as thick as ropes. Trembling, he held the string taut up to his ear and then let go. The arrow whizzed off, missing the left target by several handbreadths and burrowing into the ground behind it.

“That was better,” said Thaelon.

Benderast lowered the bow. “But I missed again.”

“Yes, but you missed by a narrower margin than usual.”

“AN EXCELLENT SHOT!” boomed Honor from his pole, which Benderast had driven into the ground next to the shooting stand. “In a real battle, all you have to do is shoot the arrow in the direction of the biggest group anyway!”

“I don’t think that’ll help with the trial though, Honor,” said Shaelith.

Benderast wiped the sweat from his forehead. “This just isn’t my class, you know? I’d need a completely different build to be really good at it.”

“I think it’s more because you do everything with way too much strength,” Shaelith replied. “Just because you have all those muscles doesn’t mean you have to use them full force for everything. Just loosen up a little.”

“It’s not that easy to keep that bowstring taut for so long. How am I supposed to do that without using my muscles?” Benderast massaged his forearm. “Seriously, it’s because I’m a melee fighter. Ranged combat is just a completely different skill tree.”

“I’ve never heard of that tree,” Thaelon said deadpan. “The bow is definitely made of oak, and it doesn’t care what kind of fighter you are. The bow only cares about how you hold it.”

Mirrsoss, who was sitting cross-legged in the grass and relishing a handful of willow blossoms, looked up. “Maybe,” she suggested helpfully, “it would be easier if the target were closer to Benderast?”

Benderast sighed. “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re pulling my leg, Mirrsoss.”

“That’s just a metaphor,” Shaelith said to Mirrsoss, who twitched her antennae in confusion.

Grimbart, who was sharpening the tips of the arrows they’d been practicing with, spoke up without looking up from his work. “Just be patient. You can even learn to knit with a hammer. It just takes longer.”

Shaelith, however, was under no illusions anymore. Benderast wouldn’t beat Gwilet at archery, that much was certain.

But the Hunt was an open competition, and whoever won the entire field would get an extra point. The field was full of skilled archers and hunters from all three realms. They didn’t know how good Gwilet was, but at least in theory, he could win the Hunt.

That was why Thaelon had also entered the competition.

Now he held out the next arrow to Benderast.

“One more time,” said the Sylvyn.

~

On the day of the Hunt, it seemed as though all of Bomfrey had gathered at the edge of the shooting range. Lots of people in their high-necked, layered robes crowded the wooden stands, and at the front, beneath a canopy of red and blue cloth, sat King Gelsevier, King Gerarde, and Grand Master Rambaud.

Shaelith saw Obelaine, who sat near her father, perk up as Benderast was called to the line, where he took the arrows for his attempt. The arrows were provided for the participants and they were all custom-made in the same workshop so that no nobleman could buy an advantage with better materials.

Benderast was one of the first to take his turn, and this time he actually hit the target. Unfortunately, it was only once out of a total of five attempts, and only relatively far on the outside, where fewer points were awarded. The remaining arrows were scattered generously across the surrounding landscape.

Obelaine looked disappointed.

I also had hoped that those few days of practice would have made at least a little difference.

When he came back, he shrugged and gave a wry grin. “At least no one got hurt.”

Over the next few hours, however, it became clear that even the really good archers seemed to be having an especially bad day. Most of them, of course, didn’t shoot quite as disastrously as Benderast, but they shot poorly by their usual standards.

A tall hunter from Nalvine, who was considered one of the favorites, if the conversations among the spectators were to be believed, placed three arrows relatively cleanly in the center of the target, but the fourth and fifth landed far too low.

Then it was Gwilet’s turn.

The prince stepped up to the line, and the murmur of the stands subsided. Everyone knew that more was at stake for him and Benderast and the tension was correspondingly higher. Shaelith, Benderast, and their companions also watched intently.

“He’s not exactly a master,” remarked Thaelon, studying Gwilet’s posture and the way he held his bow.

But his arrows apparently flew where they were supposed to. Out of five shots, he managed five good hits, and three of them were very close to the center. 

“But apparently it’s enough,” said Benderast, sounding a little dejected.

The crowd applauded, Gwilet gave a brief bow, and the judges from the College of Heralds recorded his score on the scoreboards. The prince had taken the lead so far.

Shortly afterward, Mirrsoss returned from one of her forays and flopped down in the grass next to Shaelith.

“The archers are all really down in the dumps,” she reported breathlessly. “The big guy from Nalvine even said someone had cast a curse over the field.”

I mean, human magic sucks, but… it’s not impossible. I wonder…

It was admittedly unlikely, but in general she believed Gwilet was capable of anything.

Sighing, she stood up. “You know what, I’m just going to check and see if he might be right.”

She made her way through the crowd, cursing not for the first time the fact that humans were so tall, and tried to sense if there was anything strange in the mana flows around the field. There wasn’t.

I don’t think that Gwilet would find any Sylvyn druids or Shaeravyn sorceresses even to do his dirty work for him.

So that really left only some reverse-engineered wiz-artifacts the humans usually made. She looked around thoroughly to see if there was a contraption of that sort anywhere.

In doing so, she noticed that among the helpers who were constantly refilling the competitors’ quivers with arrows, two of Gwilet’s lackeys were also hanging around, the ones he’d designated as his seconds. And they, too, were busily filling the quivers with arrows.

Oh damn, I should have known he’d try something like that…

She approached as inconspicuously as possible, pulled out one of the arrows that Gwilet’s men had packed into the quivers, and took it straight to Grimbart.

~

Grimbart picked up the arrow and examined it closely with his Chronosteel hand. He almost poked himself in the nose with it, so thoroughly was he scrutinizing the shaft.

Then he placed the arrow across his outstretched finger, a good hand’s breadth behind the tip, and the shaft immediately tilted forward.

“See that? The weight is way too far forward. This arrow is completely out of balance, but it’s very subtle.” He looked up. “I can’t imagine that happened by accident.”

Benderast took the arrow in his own hand and tried, probably in vain, to feel what was wrong with it. “I didn’t notice anything. Well, I shot poorly, but I thought it was my fault.”

“Do you really think they did this on purpose?” asked Mirrsoss. “So the other archers would shoot worse?”

“It would be a clever move,” Grimbart said grimly. “If they swap out enough arrows in every quiver, that guarantees every archer would have at least a few really bad shots. The only one who could shoot normally would be Gwilet.” 

“We have to warn Thaelon,” said Shaelith, looking around.

Benderast grimaced. “Too late.”

Damn it!

Thaelon was already standing at the line, had taken his quiver just like everyone else, and was just placing the first arrow on the bowstring.

Grimbart had rushed forward to the barrier. “Thaelon!” he called, in a subdued shout. “Thaelon, the arrows-“

But Thaelon was already far too absorbed in his preparation. The Sylvyn stood completely still, his gaze fixed solely on the target.

Thaelon drew the bowstring back and let go.

Shaelith held her breath as the first arrow struck the straw target. Thaelon’s first hit now sat right where a dot marked the center of the target.

Thaelon nocked the second arrow, and this time Shaelith thought she noticed a tiny hesitation before he released it again.

But this arrow, too, hit right in the center.

“Way to go, Thaelon, show ’em!” Benderast shouted enthusiastically.

The third arrow followed and was also a direct hit.

Mirrsoss flapped her wings excitedly, and Grimbart laughed and pumped his fist in the air.

The fourth arrow also landed very close to the other three.

The crowd, which had initially clapped more out of politeness, seemed to wake up, and excited murmurs swelled all around them.

Thaelon calmly took one last arrow, placed it on the string, held his breath, and didn’t exhale until the arrow had left his bow.

The fifth arrow struck the shaft of one of the other arrows so precisely that it split it lengthwise, and the two halves gaped apart like a sliced pear.

Okay, that’s the most Robin Hood thing I’ve ever seen.

“ROBIN HOOD!” bellowed Benderast, laughing like a madman and shaking Grimbart so violently by the shoulders that the dwarf’s teeth chattered against each other.

Then the audience came to life as well, applauding loudly while the heralds wrote Thaelon’s scores on the boards. He had taken a commanding lead.

Thaelon slung the bow back over his shoulder and returned to them.

Mirrsoss fluttered excitedly over to him to congratulate him. “You hit the center five times!”

“Well, that’s where I was aiming,” Thaelon said, a little confused by her enthusiasm. “Where else was I supposed to aim?”

Grimbart chuckled. “And you didn’t notice a thing?”

“Well, I mean, these arrows,” he mentioned irritably, “are really a disgrace.” He pulled one out of the quiver, held it up while shaking his head, and made a face as if he’d fished it out of a toilet. “On most of them, the balance is completely off, and you have to hold them half a handbreadth higher and a bit to the right just to get them to fly straight at all.”

He shook his head again and seemed genuinely saddened by such careless craftsmanship.

“Humans are truly lousy fletchers,” he said. “They always have been.”

Grimbart opened his mouth, looked at Shaelith, and closed it again. She nodded toward Gwilet, who was glaring hatefully at them from the other side of the archery range.

Benderast followed her gaze. “Seems like he’s not too happy that he didn’t get a bonus point.”

“No, not at all,” Grimbart confirmed. “But if he’s already attempting to cheat in the very first competition, it won’t stop there. Looks like we better brace ourselves for the next rounds.”

Thaelon looked from one to the other, puzzled. “Did I miss something? What kind of cheating attempt are you talking about?”